


Tracks of Water

by flamewarrior



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hedwig POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-10
Updated: 2005-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewarrior/pseuds/flamewarrior





	Tracks of Water

The wind is northerly and strong and her feathers ruffle as she tilts her wings to ride it. She cannot remember the last time Harry sent her on such a far journey and she loves the freedom, though she is chilled, the sun no longer in the sky. Though it is almost midnight it is still dusk, light and dark enough for her round eyes and silent wings and sharp talons to drop upon a young stoat, belly shining against the green hedgerow. The meal is good and warm.

She checks the parchment with her beak - still tied securely to her leg - and flies on, feeling content.

It is full dark as she reaches her destination, firelight and candlelight glowing from the window where she scratches. The casement opens and the surprise on the face before her changes to pleasure.

"Hello, Hedwig. What are you doing here? Has Harry sent us a letter?"

She settles on the shoulder of the woman who is speaking to her, gently nipping on the top of her ear through the hair which springs out around her head, recognising the human's scent.

Gentle hands untie the parchment from her leg and lift her from her perch onto the back of a large, soft chair. The woman moves around the room, returning with a handful of treats. She pecks at them, takes one; her stomach is still full.

"Not hungry, eh? I suppose you ate on the way." The woman lifts a finger and strokes gently across her head feathers. "It must have taken you all day to get here."

The woman is moving again, leaving the room.

"Ron! Ron! Harry's sent us a letter."

"What? Hermione, why on earth's he done that? All he has to do is Floo and we can chat face to face."

"I don't know. It's addressed to both of us, do you want to come here and read it with me?"

A pause.

"Yeah, all right then, the bath water's still too hot anyway."

The woman reappears and sits in the chair, her hair brushing against talons, and a man enters the room, pink and orange and white.

"Hello, Hedwig." Another finger over her head feathers. He sits on the chair as well, leaning over the woman. "Let's see it, then."

The two humans huddle close, their heads together. She bobs her head and hoots softly, creeping down onto the arm of the chair to look too. She has always wondered what the lines and marks upon the parchments she carries are for. She wonders how it is that they all look so similar, when the reactions they bring are so different. This parchment has made the woman and the man both so still, so quiet. She looks at the marks and wishes she could discern what they mean. They look like this:

 

5th June

Dear Hermione and Ron

I bet you're wondering why I'm writing to you instead of just Flooing over to visit. Well, I could say I just fancied a change, but it wouldn't be true. If I tried to say this to you face to face I wouldn't be able to get the words out, and I had to tell you. I had to. I was about to say I couldn't live with myself if I didn't, but that would be just a tad ironic.

I can't stand it any more. I'm sorry. You're not going to like this. Maybe you won't like me after this. But I can't bear it any longer. The hole in me's too big and I know I'll never be whole again. I guess this isn't making any sense to you. I guess to you I look like I've been coping fine, getting on with my life, when really I've just been going through the motions.

You'll probably want to know why now, why now, when I should be over it. It's been two years, after all. Two years without the person who gave me a reason to get up in the morning, two years with a gaping, bleeding hole in me that won't heal. Well, I'm going to tell you why, so you don't have to think about it any more after you've buried me.

It wasn't going to sleep in a bed too big every night or waking up alone every morning. It wasn't anything like that, the little, everyday things that are really big things, because they make you face how very, very alone you are, though Merlin knows they were bad enough. I managed to ignore all of those after a few months.

Did you ever know how he killed himself? He cast Avada Kedavra on himself. I didn't think it was possible for anyone to hate themselves enough to manage that, but Draco did. He left a candle burning in the entrance hall with the ring I'd given him and a note. He said he wanted me to keep the ring because he couldn't bear to leave me completely alone. Even though that's what he did. He said he loved me more than anything, that he'd die for me, but he couldn't live for me, because he hated himself more. He hated himself more than he loved me. And I know how much he loved me.

Did you ever notice the date he killed himself? It was the day before his birthday, like he couldn't bear to have anyone celebrate his birth just one more time, couldn't bear the reminder that he was still alive. I used to think he was so privileged when we were at school, that he had everything. He had money and everything it could buy, he showed it off, he shoved his prejudices down everyone's throats like the sun shone out of his arse and we should all be grateful for his attention. But he always loathed himself. I guess you didn't know that either.

Today would have been his birthday. He taught me to dance, just so I could dance with him on his birthday. I wouldn't, any other day. I woke up this morning and I knew. I knew this was it. I'm here in our home, with his favourite minuet playing, and I can't do it. I can't dance on my own, not any more. Because he's not coming back. He's really, truly gone and he's never coming back.

My will is in my vault at Gringotts. I've left instructions to give both of you access. You're my executors, and I've made you trustees of the Malfoy-Potter Foundation for Peace and Reconciliation. Sell anything in our home, or at Malfoy Manor, that the Foundation doesn't need.

I love you both. Be happy, please. The Muggle religions may be right, I could be going to hell for killing myself. But in that case Draco will be there too, and that'll make it heaven enough for me.

Your friend,  
Harry

 

She twists her head around and cocks it to one side, looking at the woman's face. It has tracks of water running down it from her eyes. How strange. There were ones just like that on Harry's face when he was scratching the lines and squiggles onto the parchment, only more of them.


End file.
